433

Legend of the American West

"Curses can not only restrict your actions but also inflict severe punishments. I believe you wouldn't want to test that." The Soul Stone spoke, "Let's begin."

Forseti remained silent for a moment.

Immediately, the curse took effect again, as the Soul Gem had forewarned. This time, it wasn't just imprisonment but excruciating pain that seized him, causing him to clutch his head and cry out.

"Ahhh-"

This pain wasn't physical but spiritual, a sensation that threatened to tear his very soul apart.

Though brief, the pain felt as though it had stretched on for three days and nights. Forseti collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, shaken to his core.

"Soul Stone: "I trust you've learned from this experience."

Compelled by the curse's power, Forseti reluctantly obeyed the Soul Gem's command, rising swiftly to his feet and commencing the construction of the altar.

The altar was massive, set atop a mountain. Fortunately, its design was straightforward, and the planet boasted ample high-quality stone, requiring Forseti mainly to transport and assemble the bricks.

After several days of toil, Forseti finished stacking a freshly cut stone brick and hesitantly asked, "May I rest now?"

"You do not require rest." The Soul Stone's voice remained unwavering.

"Even if I don't feel tired, emotional well-being is crucial for optimal performance. Without it, efficiency inevitably suffers. This is true for us mortals," Forseti shrugged.

The Soul Stone fell silent momentarily. "Indeed."

Forseti breathed a sigh of relief.

Though the soul-crushing pain had only struck once thus far, the memory of it would haunt him forever. He had no desire to experience it again.

As a seasoned warrior, Forseti had endured countless injuries and pains over centuries. Yet, compared to the agony of the Soul Stone's curse, even the toughest battles paled in comparison.

Seating himself upon a nearby stone, Forseti feigned inspecting calluses on his hands while secretly pondering the lore within his holy tome.

He had begun to form a vague suspicion about the origin of the voice within the Soul Gem.

Nemesis.

Born before the birth of the universe, Nemesis was a being of immeasurable power. The six gems were crystallizations of her power following her demise.

Forseti suspected a connection between the voice within the Soul Stone and Nemesis herself. Only a being of Nemesis's transcendent stature could refer to Asgardians as "mortals."

Given this curse's apparent ties to Nemesis, breaking free wouldn't be easy. Forseti was certain Divine Shield—specifically, the Invincible Hearthstone—held the key.

Consuming sixty Divine Shield charges could facilitate a strategic retreat, negating all negative effects and teleporting him back to safety.

However, the absence of even one Divine Shield posed a formidable obstacle.All consumed in hell debacle

Fortuitously, it wasn't an insurmountable predicament. Forseti had amassed numerous volumes of piety and experience within his holy tome. By challenging and succeeding in Fate's gift, he could potentially procure some Divine Shield charges as a reward. Yet, the extent of this windfall remained uncertain.

Forseti harbored doubts about amassing sixty Divine Shield charges through this approach, leaning towards skepticism.

Moreover, contemplating expending so many Divine Shield charges to escape the clutches of the Soul Gem left him feeling utterly despondent.

Sixty fragments of the Divine Shield spell: sixty seconds of invincibility!

If given the chance, Forseti would have eagerly crushed the Soul Gem to dust and obliterated every last Infinity Stone in existence out of sheer spite!

Forseti vowed inwardly.

Shortly thereafter, the voice within the Soul Gem spoke once more, "Continue."

"Yes," Forseti started, startled into action, resuming the task of moving bricks.

...

In the American West,

Recent years had seen the rise of a legend: each night, the Ghost Rider, wreathed in hellfire, would ride his warhorse through the darkness to fulfill his master's bidding—a loyal demon whose sulfurous scent trailed from Oregon to Colorado.

Legends often hold a kernel of truth.

In the present darkness of the West, the demonic Knight rode his flaming steed across the wilderness, leaving a trail of fiery embers in his wake.

The warhorse thundered through the night, bringing the Ghost Rider swiftly to his destination—the ruins of San Venganza.

To be precise, the desolate remnants of San Venganza. Abandoned and dilapidated, the village lay in ruin, its collapsed buildings and deserted fields a haunting testament to past glories.

Stepping into the heart of San Venganza, the spectral knight extinguished the hellfire that cloaked him, revealing the weary countenance of a middle-aged man with a weathered beard. He moved with slow, deliberate steps through the village, his expression troubled.

Over thirty years ago, Carter Sley had been born in this very village, witnessing firsthand the clash between angels and demons.

Subsequently departing, he had vowed to leave the world of gods and demons behind. Yet, an elderly malevolent figure had appeared, striking an unjust bargain with him, transforming him into the Ghost Rider against his will.

Now, his task was to reclaim the deceitful Covenant that bound a thousand fallen souls of San Venganza—a Covenant coveted by the malevolent old man...

No sooner had Carter Sley entered the village than the slumbering souls awakened, their ghostly cries echoing from all directions, stirring a chilling, ominous wind.

His demeanor shifted, and hellfire ignited once more upon his form, casting an eerie orange-red glow across the darkened night. The wraithlike souls surrounding him recoiled, dispersing into the shadows.

"Spirit of Vengeance!"

Carter Sley gazed upon the spectral figures with eyes ablaze.

These were no ordinary spirits. If they had been mere mortals, the malevolent old man would have shown no interest, nor dared to venture into the village personally.

Roaming the ruins of San Venganza were a thousand fallen angelic souls...

The old man had ensnared them, luring them from sanctity to corruption. Yet, he dared not enter the village to reclaim his treacherous Covenant.

Only the Ghost Rider, straddling the realms of heaven and hell, wielding the power to judge evil, could fulfill this mission.

The flames of hell burned upon Carter Sley, instilling fear in the surrounding souls, which dared not draw closer.

He proceeded towards the village's central church, where the malevolent Covenant of San Venganza awaited.

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